


A Late Night Cup of Tea

by 0_yngve



Series: Aching Bones, Aching Hearts [2]
Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon), Mumintrollet | Moomins Series (Tove Jansson), Opowiadania Muminków | Die Mumins, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Autistic Character, Autistic Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Chronic Pain, Disability, Disabled Character, Disabled Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Found Family, Gen, Mild Transphobia, Physical Disability, Plant Medicine, Smoking, Snufkin hates doctors, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Snusmumriken | Snufkin, reference to medical transphobia and misgendering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23845273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0_yngve/pseuds/0_yngve
Summary: Black canvas. Snufkin’s view for hours had been nothing but black canvas. The rain drummed on the surface, provided an underwhelming overture to another of many long, long nights. Each plop on his tent amplified the throbbing in his foot.Maybe he should go see Moominmamma. She might give him some temporary relief. If nothing else, he could dry off his socks by the stove.
Relationships: Mumintrollet | Moomintroll & Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Snusmumriken | Snufkin & Muminmamman | Moominmamma
Series: Aching Bones, Aching Hearts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1688545
Comments: 10
Kudos: 84





	A Late Night Cup of Tea

**Author's Note:**

> Another update? Two days in a row? I'm as surprised as you are. In all fairness, this one has been almost done for a week, but still
> 
> Also you guys wouldn't believe the terrible snake oil anti-pharmaceutical sites I had to visit to get any information about plant medicine. If I hear "improve circulation" one more time I'm going to lose it.

Black canvas. Snufkin’s view for hours had been nothing but black canvas. The rain drummed on the surface, provided an underwhelming overture to another of many long, long nights. Each plop on his tent amplified the throbbing in his foot. 

His socks were damp. Snufkin would dry them off by the fire, but he had already calmed it down, and he was in no condition to gather fresh wood. 

Maybe he should go see Moominmamma. She might give him some temporary relief. If nothing else, he could dry off his socks by the stove. 

Snufkin sighed, swallowing his pride. It was a difficult walk, even for one so short as across the bridge and up the hill. But Snufkin’s body was in a way and he was not going to argue against it. After some difficulty with the stairs of the veranda, he knocked on the door. 

No one answered. Was it too late? What time was it? The moon was clear but low in the sky. Certainly, it was several hours past dinner. Oh, Snufkin hoped he wouldn’t wake anyone. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. 

Just as he was about to turn around and go back to his tent, the door opened. 

Moomintroll was surprised, surely. That much was clear on his face. And with much reason — Snufkin did come into Moominhouse late at night sometimes to see Moomintroll, but never through the front door. He always whistled for the troll to come down and go on an adventure, or threw pebbles at his high-up window, or climbed the ladder and snuck in to share stories into the early morning. 

Snufkin cleared his throat. “Can I come in?” 

“Uh, yeah — go ahead.” Moomintroll didn’t move. 

Snufkin stared for a minute, waiting. 

“Oh!” Moomintroll flushed. He moved out of the doorway. 

Snufkin’s smile felt like wet clay on his face. He went inside. 

In the living room, Moominmamma sat in her armchair. A pot of tea with some empty cups sat on a tray on the coffee table. Candles lit the room dimly, softening all the edges like an old photograph. 

When Moominmamma looked at Snufkin, something passed over her face. Snufkin didn’t know what it was, exactly, but he felt exposed under her sharp green eyes. 

“Please, sit down. I just made some tea.” 

Snufkin sat in his usual place — right cushion of the couch under the window — before reaching to the coffee table and pouring himself a cup. Moomintroll sat in the chair beside him, clearly worried about personal space. Snufkin decided that was endearing. 

“What brings you here tonight?” Moominmamma asked. 

Snufkin took a sip of tea to buy himself time to think of the mildest form of the truth. The tea burned his tongue. “I got my socks wet and was hoping to dry them off by your stove.” 

Moomintroll furrowed his brow. He opened his mouth but Mamma spoke first: “Of course, Snufkin. You’re always welcome here.” Her voice was warm. 

Moomintroll leveled his eyes at Snufkin, who lowered his head to cover his face with his hat’s wide brim. 

“Why didn’t you dry them by your campfire?” The troll asked. 

“I couldn’t light one tonight.”

“Did your kindling get wet?”

Snufkin shook his head. “No, no, I just couldn’t gather firewood tonight.” 

“Why ever not?”

Snufkin pursed his lips. “My body was just being a bit uncooperative tonight, that’s all.” He didn’t like the way this conversation was going. 

“What?” Moomintroll’s brow furrowed. Mamma only nodded. At least she understood. 

But now Snufkin was confused. “Oh, I was just having one of those days when it hurts to move. You know the type.”

A look passed over Moominmamma’s and Moomintroll’s faces. Snufkin couldn’t quite read it. Confusion? Surprise? Pity? Oh, he hoped it wasn’t pity. 

Snufkin felt something drop in his stomach.

Moominmamma spoke first. “Moomintroll, dear, why don’t you prepare a bed and pajamas for Snufkin? I’m sure he could use some warming up.” 

Moomintroll’s worry was plain on his face, but he didn’t protest, hurrying up the stairs. 

Snufkin and Mamma sat in silence together nursing their cups of tea. 

“What do you normally do when you’re in pain?” Moominmamma asked, always patient. 

Snufkin was glad that Moomintroll had left the room. He didn’t want Moomintroll to hear about his pain if it was something extraordinary. “I’ll eat some dried feverfew. And clove oil.” 

This piqued Moominmamma’s interest. “How much feverfew?” 

Snufkin shrugged. “When things hurt, I just chew on a bud or two.” He knew Moominmamma would accept this message without judgement, but Snufkin felt nervous revealing such private information. 

“And if it doesn’t work?” 

What a silly question. “I eat more.” 

That seemed to be the wrong answer. Moominmamma sat up a tad straighter. “Snufkin?” 

“Yes?” He resisted the urge to not shrink under her knowing gaze. 

“Do you know how feverfew works? Or clove, for that matter?” 

Feeling inadequate, Snufkin shook his head slowly. 

“They reduce inflammation by thinning the blood.” 

Okay, that made enough sense. 

Moominmamma continued, “In other words, one must use them under careful watch.” 

Oh. 

“Too much of these anti-inflammatories and you’ll find minor scrapes and cuts bleeding more than they ought. And bruises form at the drop of a hat.” 

Oh. That was all too familiar for Snufkin. He bruised like a peach; one bump and come next morning he’d discover dark purple blotches blossoming on his skin. His face grew hot with embarrassment. 

Moominmamma glanced at her grandmother’s book before looking up, as stoic as ever. “Tell me, Snufkin: have you had any stomach pains? Beyond the standard degree?” 

Uncertain how this was relevant, Snufkin obliged. “Yes,” he replied, his voice quiet. “A terrible burning here,” he gestured to his upper abdomen, “and here,” he moved his hand up to his chest. 

Moominmamma hummed. “Anything else?” 

Snufkin thought for a moment. “I don’t think I’ve been eating any less than normal, but I have been losing weight,” he added. His hands were looking more bony and pants were looser than he remembered they were a few months ago. 

Nodding, Moominmamma said, “Yes, that would make sense. I’m afraid it sounds like you have an ulcer: a hole in the lining of your stomach.” 

Now that worried Snufkin. Would he have to see a doctor? Oh, he loathed the doctor. He’d seen one during a bad bout of what turned out to be scarlet fever. The terrible hemulan would do nothing but poke and prod at him, calling him a “young lady” despite his protests, and refused to listen to him about his own body. And he told him to burn all of his belongings! Snufkin didn’t own much of anything, but the thought of losing his hat and coat — or his harmonica — was too much. Snufkin would like to see the doctor follow his own advice and destroy his own collection of old medical devices, the feckless creature. 

Seeing Snufkin’s clear distress, Moominmamma poured him more tea. “It should go away on its own,” she reassured. 

Thank the stars!

“Provided you stop the cloves and feverfew immediately.” 

Snufkin felt like he got punched in the gut. Those were the only things that made him feel any better! How was he to go about any of his activities? He wouldn’t be able to carry his pack without his back aching, or fish without darts of electric pain shooting up and down his hands. He wouldn’t be able to walk to the beach knowing he could make it back safely. What did that leave him with? Lying down and watching the clouds? What a life for a mumrik! 

“It wouldn’t have to be forever.” Moominmamma cut interrupted Snufkin’s panic. “Only until the ulcer subsides — a few weeks, perhaps.” 

A few weeks! Snufkin had half a mind to leave this dreadful conversation. 

“Oh, and you must quit that dreadful smoking habit.” 

This was getting all too much. Snufkin had tried to quit smoking several times — ever since he heard Moomintroll mentioned he didn’t like the smell of his father’s own tobacco. It was a horrible experience, feeling as if his hands and mouth were always missing something. It made him fidgety and gave him terrible headaches and a fetid taste in his mouth. He could never last for long. And to combine that with not being able to take his pain medication? Snufkin didn’t know how he would make it. 

Moominmamma’s voice broke Snufkin’s thoughts. “I know that it will be hard,” she reassured him, “but sacrifices are necessary for one’s health.” Her tone was kind but Snufkin bristled under them. 

Sacrifices. All Snufkin ever seemed to do was sacrifice for his health. He sacrificed his travels on days when he needed to stay in his tent and lie still. He sacrificed his harmonica playing when his paws burned or shook too much. He sacrificed his manhood on his rare visits to the doctor. His health — what there was of it — took away more and more of him. River stones got smooth and round when battered by water, but Snufkin only felt like pumice: sharp and rough and full of holes that only grew and grew. 

He took another sip of his tea. It was cold and bitter on his tongue. 

Snufkin’s ear flicked as he heard Moomintroll come down the stairs. The troll leaned over the rail and said that the bed and change of clothes were ready. 

Moominmamma’s voice was a clear water stream. “You should get some rest, Snufkin.” 

At that, Snufkin stood clumsily. When he reached the foot of the stairs, he hesitated. Taking a deep breath, he put one paw on the rail and the other against the wall, bracing himself as he put his left foot up on the first step. Another deep breath. With effort Snufkin felt embarrassed to expend, he used his sweating grip to swing his right foot up beside the left. He felt his claws leave pin-pricks in the wallpaper and cringed, decidedly not making eye contact with Moomintroll a few steps above him. 

Moomintroll leaned down and outstretched his paw: a silent offer. 

Snufkin’s own paw pulled away from the wall. His fingertips tingled. To accept aid or worsen pain? To lean on others to walk on his own? To tighten the ties around him or stay free?

Snufkin had made enough sacrifices to-night. 

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway when I was younger I took NSAIDS and PANSAIDS (drugs like Advil, Aleve, and Aspirin) like candy and gave my doctor a fright. Turns out regularly taking 800mg three times a day is bad for you. Who would have thought? They stopped working for me anyway fjdslka Now I can’t really take them at all anymore F
> 
> Anyway thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> If you want, follow me on tumblr @/smooth-goat for cottagecore, cripple punk, and communism 


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